Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE DREADFUL BURNING OF LONDON, by JOSEPH GUILLIM


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE DREADFUL BURNING OF LONDON, by                    
First Line: While urgent sleep our heavy eyes did close
Last Line: Another, vvhose high tovvers may urge the skies.
Subject(s): London Fire (1666); Great Fire Of 1666


While urgent Sleep our heavy Eyes did close,
And wrapt our mindes up in a soft Repose;
Some glowing Coal, silent, and dark as night,
Shakes its black Embers off, so shews its light.
Which through some narrow room, did gently creep
With a still foot, e're it abroad durst peep.
Which will no longer now confined be,
But steals forth with a kind of subtilty.
Though on its way, Night had her Poppy shed;
Yet is reveal'd by its own Light it spread:
And with a train at last in publick goes,
And as it marches forward stronger grows.
Surprizing all before it, as it burns;
And to itself all opposition turns.
Nor was its Rise more sudden by a blaste,
Than th' Execution which it made in haste.
As an inrag'd Invader straight doth spread
His bloudy Banners, which still Menace dread,
Wasting where e're he comes, whose anger burns,
And into dreadful Flames the Countrey turns:
Which dismal ruine that he leaves behind,
Scarce satisfies the fury of his mind.
Thus doth this raging Fire lift up its head,
And its unruly Flames abroad doth spread:
Which as deep midnight now disturbs our Peace,
And by our Ruine do themselves encrease.
And as it marcheth, is it trackt alone
By the dire footsteps of destruction.
Weak at the first, it humbly crept along,
Till higher it aspir'd, as it grew strong:
And to exalted Pyramids doth rise,
Before the clogs of sleep fall from our eyes.
How does the crackling noise first wound our ear,
E're that the dreadful sight doth urge our fear.
No sooner some out of their Beds were gone,
But in bright Sheets of Flames their Houses shone:
And newly but awake, as now they gaze
Upon whole Streets in such a dismal Blaze:
They seem as still asleep, and what they see,
As some dire dream without reality.
Such dread makes them their own eyes scarce believe,
Or to their very Senses credit give.
So much amaz'd they stand, o'recome with fear,
As but unmoving Statues they appear.
Thus once Lot's Wife did to a Pillar turn,
As soon as she beheld her Sodom burn.
And here, although whole Streets prove but a Prey
To hungry Flames, through which they eat their way:
How few among such multitudes engage,
To check their progress, or to quench their rage?
So wide they spread, and did so high aspire,
As if sank down th' whole Element of Fire:
And did to us so great a Blaze present,
As if were wrapt in Flames the Firmament.
Some who this Fire would with resistance meet,
By others are obstructed in the Street:
Who onely striving to secure their Goods,
Justle down those who bring opposing Floods.
Who laden thus with water, and thrown down
Amidst the Flames, at once both burn and drown.
Others their Water-Engins full do bring,
Which on the Flames opposing showres fling:
Whose streams with such a force ascend so high,
As if they could therewith the Clouds supply.
The Pipes are cut, and all the Conduits flow,
And on the Fire repeated Flouds men throw.
Yet Pyramids of Flames invade the Skies,
Whose thirst the watry Clouds could scarce suffice:
But lick their moistures up, so make them dry,
That without water, Clouds they seem thereby:
And none but clouds of smoak about us hover;
Whose sable wings do th' whole Horizon cover.
As the destructive Fire doth forward creep,
Its shining train whole Streets away doth sweep.
Which wandring Flames, lose and destroy their way,
And having ruin'd all, themselves decay.
Such ranks of Flames, the chief fire forward leads,
Which Hydra-like lifts up a hundred heads.
They dance at the least Whistle of the Wind,
Leaving dire foot steps of their rage behind.
At last so boundless in their Progress, they
As uncontroll'd, no limits scarce obey.
Which thirsty fire the flowing waters drank,
And made the very Thames shrink from its bank:
And was so hungry too, whole Streets became
As fuel but to feed this greedy Flame.
But as it feeds, it still the more doth crave,
Unsatisfy'd, like the devouring Grave.
Whole Parishes, its rage did but excite,
And not appease its wanton appetite.
Elijah's Victim on the Altar fum'd,
And by his fire of zeal was soon consum'd:
Whose rapid Flames, the waters in the trench,
Could not by all their swelling moistures quench;
Which could no more their raging thirst allay,
Than th' Holocaust their hunger take away.
Our Altars fume, but not with their own fire;
And for a Sacrifice now burns the Quire.
Luxuriant Flames made beauteous Piles to be
The objects of their wanton cruelty.
But as those Flames in several ranks divide;
And as they march, stretch o're from side to side.
'Twas as the Psalmist once sang to his Lyre,
The voice of God, divides the flames of fire.
The Blaze of two dire Comets did fore-run
This stream of Flames, which should out-blaze the Sun:
Which to the middle Region did aspire,
As if it would convert it to one fire;
Or onely to a gen'ral Comet turn,
Which might be seen by the whole world to burn.
Then angry Heaven more direful thunders sent,
Which sturdy Oaks, and lofty Steeples rent.
So Rome before its dismal Fire, did see
Signs, which presag'd an angry Deity.
Phoebus lookt down, and blusht at such a sight
To be out-shone by an inferiour Light:
Who seem'd not onely red, when first he rose;
But so remain'd, till he the day did close.
And at so great a Conflagration stood,
As at his Solstice, and seem'd turn'd to blood:
While up and down th' affrighted people run,
As if indeed Dooms-day were now begun.
The Sun now fears a Peregoeum, while
Such clouds of smoak his purer light defile:
Which though all day, did but eclipse his light;
Yet flames supply'd his absence in the night.
And doth fair Cynthia shrink into her Wain,
Lest such black clouds, her beauty too should stain:
Draws in her horns, as if her force were spent,
While Fire o'recomes her liquid Element.
Doubting though in the Sea she dipt her horn,
So great a fire might all her moisture scorn.
Those flames so great a light did spread, that they
Seem'd to recall the new departed day:
The lesser Stars within their sockets shrink,
As tender eyes before great light that wink.
Which eyes of Heaven, thus twinckle all the night,
While such vast flames cast a perstringent light.
Before the Sun, an Eastern Wind doth rise,
Which made the flames shoot sparks up to the Skies:
Which shone so bright, as if indeed they strove
To adde new lights unto the stars above.
Cold gusts of wind, these ardors more intend;
Which make the flames their Ruines forward send.
The brightest of them rush tow'rd Lumbard Street,
And lick up all opposing streams they meet:
Where they the Jewels, and rich Stones out-shine;
And do the Gold but once again refine.
This Fire which we not only forward trace,
Which Janus like presents a double face;
And doth not only burn before the wind,
But backward shoots its flames as far behind.
As when a Serpent wreaths his head about,
And as he twines, doth shoot his fork't sting out:
Whose wrigling tail though sever'd, yet doth threat
Still Parthian like, to wound in his retreat.
Thus though this fiery Serpent cut in twain,
Yet scarce wounds with his head, more than his train.
While it doth toward the Bridge now backward turn,
To tantalize the Waves, and o're them burn.
Doth Vulcan against Neptune seem to rage,
Who with his Waves could not his ardours swage:
And threatens too those Ships on th' other side,
Which Nereus scarce could rescue with his tide.
Thus when renowned Carthage once was fir'd,
By the same flames the Navy too expir'd.
The Bridge thus burning might some think the while,
'Twas to those trait'rous heads a Funeral-pile:
Whose ashes yet like Traytors are deny'd
An Urn, while swallow'd by the angry Tide.
Neptune looks up on this insulting Fire,
Which higher than his Surges doth aspire:
Who with his swelling Tides could scarce out-roar,
Or drown the noise they sent down to the shore.
The glitt'ring Fish in mighty shoals now gaze
Upon the lightning of so great a Blaze:
To see those Flames of such a large extent,
Out shine themselves, and their own Element.
That fervour which they to the River cast,
Might cause its very Waves to boil at last:
So make the Tides more estuate than before,
Though driven with such a force against the shore.
So Xanthus boil'd, while the flames did destroy
The stately Palaces of ancient Troy.
The leading flames towards the Burse Royal haste,
Where all the Statues of our Kings were plac't:
Which the black clouds of smoak did first infold,
E're the rude flames took off their burnisht Gold.
Nor could those Royal Statues be like those,
Which from the Capitol repell'd the foes:
When the bold Sabines did it once assail,
But could not o're the Roman force prevail;
When th' ancient Statues in the breach were plac'd,
They sav'd the Tower, but were themselves defac'd.
A ruder flame doth on those Statues prey,
Which them doth in the common Ruine lay:
And while by unexpected flames they burn,
Their noble ashes seem to want an Urn.
Yet, burn those Statues not like other things,
Which represent no less than sacred Kings;
But a perfumed flame doth from them rise,
Whose smoak sweet Odours sends up to the Skies:
For th' Aromatick Cavern underneath,
Doth all the while Saboean Vapours breath.
As flames th' Arabian Spices thus consume,
They all the circumambient air perfume.
Soon may we see from this burnt Sacrifice,
Or spicy bed of flames, a Phoenix rise.
Why should we from such ashes think it strange,
To see spring up, a more august Exchange.
Here did the wealthy Merchants use to meet,
And Forreign Nations did each other greet:
But these unruly flames rush in among
Those Forreigners, to speak their fiery tongue:
Which spake not so obscurely, but we might
See flaming Sheets, their meaning bring to light;
Making those very marble Columns burn,
And only into fiery Pillars turn.
Yet they the gen'rous Founder of the place,
Refuse with awe his Statue to deface:
To change his hue, they need not send before
Their Harbingers of Smoak, to black him more.
They hence to Bow-Church stretch themselves, where they
Its lofty Roof do in the ashes lay.
And having first destroy'd the sacred Quire,
Up to the stately Tower they next aspire.
The Bells before rung backward, did thereby,
Some accidental Fire still signifie.
But when the Churches and the Bellfries burn,
The Bells are dumb, and their black towers mourn.
What Fire is this, makes the Bells cease to chime?
Destroyes the Clocks, so triumphs over time:
Vast Halls, nor Temples could these Flames repel,
Which ruin'd all, where e're their fury fell.
Rich Fabricks, once the Glory of our Isle,
Become but now the Cities Funeral Pile.
Guild Hall, where the grave Senatours still sate,
When they the City business did debate;
Whose Purple Robes did such a splendor shed,
As fill'd those who approacht their Court with dread.
Yet the rude Fire doth with its Scarlet Train,
Rush in among them, and their Robes disdain:
Whose flames a greater awe did with them bring,
While round about they nought but terrour, fling.
But when this Fire, once to the Taverns came,
They quencht it not, but it made them to flame.
And when abroad Torrents of burnt wine gush,
Incensed Bacchus doth at Vulcan blush.
Cold gusts of winde these ardours more intend,
And make the flames their Ruines forward send.
As with a strong breath Boreas sometimes blows,
When to the Clouds he angry Surges throws:
And so makes Neptune, Heaven it self defie,
By spitting in the face of th' azur'd Skie.
Thus here with such a breath, he seems to drive
Unruly flames, which toward the Heavens now strive.
Sion, where sacred Learning did encrease,
While th' Arts and Sciences dwelt there in peace:
And where the sacred Muses did inspire
The Sons of Learning, with diviner Fire;
Yet cannot with their Fountain Helicon,
Quench this unhallowed Conflagration:
But here the Criticks burn with flames so bright,
As give th' obscurer places clearer light.
When to St. Pauls among the Books it came,
Learn'd Authors, for to shun this dreadful flame,
To the magnifick Temple soon do flye
For Refuge, as their only Sanctuary:
Yet could not safety at the Altar find,
Though they had been like Saints themselves inshrin'd.
But those Divines, which in St. Faiths were pent,
Seem'd as to Purgatory they were sent:
Where sometimes after, when the smother'd Fire
Was thought in its own Embers to expire;
Receiving air, reviv'd and quickly fum'd,
So blasted Faith, and all the Books consum'd.
Pauls Temple rear'd on Faith, whose lofty Spire
Was once demolisht by Celestial Fire.
Like that once sacred unto Hope in Rome,
Burnt by a fire, which did from Heaven come.
When to the Temple of Minerva came,
The Trojan Horse, it soon began to flame.
When Horses thus Pauls Temple once defile,
How soon becomes it then a flaming Pile?
For which Profaneness, well might heaven be urg'd,
To have it thus by Fire again be purg'd.
Once the Messias in a Manger lay,
Where th' Eastern Sages did him homage pay;
Whence some prophane ones thought he might be found
Still in a Stable, though with Glory crown'd.
Those wilder Beasts, to Ephesus once brought,
With which the Doctor of the Gentiles fought,
Did not Diana's Temple so defile,
(Though it became so soon a burning Pile)
As those beasts stain the Temple of his Name,
That now doth perish by as great a Flame.
Which though the dismal Flames uncover'd thus,
Like that once sacred unto Terminus:
Yet when they lookt down, toward the awful Quire,
And on the Altar spy'd more Sacred Fire,
They fear'd as 'twere to spread unhallowed heat;
O're th' Holy Altar, but with awe retreat.
So durst not touch those beauties, where Saints pray,
But stopt, and turn'd their course another way.
To see which pile could not the Flames repel,
A shower of tears straight from the Kings eyes fell.
So Titus wept, as Salems Temple burn'd:
To see its beauty thus to ashes turn'd.
Not once like Nero, who sang to his Lyre,
As he beheld Imperial Rome on fire;
Who singing, by his breath blew up the flame,
And made it more insult, where e're it came.
For as the City burning he survey'd,
The flames but friskt and danc'd to what he play'd.
Nor as when Pyrhus with a gust of joy,
Beheld the Ruine once of flaming Troy:
While Hector wept, and old Anchises pray'd,
As thus their burning City they survey'd.
While Troynovant thus burn'd, so pray'd our King,
That God would succour to the City bring.
And may the Pious Tears of such an Eye
Well expiate, when dropt from Majesty.
Soon as they had a sacred Vial fill'd,
They quencht, as they upon the flames distill'd.
Thus seem'd he like that Royal Lyrick, whiles
He wept, till God at last upon him smiles.
Whose sacred tears were bottled up and kept
By Heaven it self, as mov'd when the King wept.
The injur'd Greeks to Temples us'd to flye,
And sacred Altars in Calamity.
But when this Fire, that from the Temple fumes,
Which th' Altar, and the Temple too consumes,
Where shall we refuge seek, and pray? while thus,
Heaven takes the very House of Prayer from us.
Th' unweary'd Flames, hence unto Christ-Church haste,
Which ample and religious Pile they waste.
Nor could the Buckets of its Sacred Quire,
Defend it now from this unhallow'd Fire.
No sooner doth this sacred Structure fall,
But th' agil Fire preys on the Hospital:
Which as the Orphans Coats first burns as blew,
Then blusheth at the act it is to do:
Which checks it self, as if 'twere loath to be,
The Ruine of this Work of Charity:
For Charity was not more warm of old,
Than in this worser age it waxeth cold.
This place yet's ruin'd by no less a Flame,
Than that of Love, which first bestow'd the same.
The Flames, though merciless to th' Orphans were,
To others after, yet more kind appear:
Reaching to Newgate, there they soon set free
The Pris'ners by a Goal-delivery.
Themselves at first, in lesser room were pent,
Till growing strong, refus'd Imprisonment.
Next, Sepulchres they with more Ruines fill,
And yet unweary'd, thence they climb Snow-Hill;
Whose unslackt ardors both despis'd its snow,
And colder Fountain at its foot below:
So burns Vesuvius, though the Sea its side
Doth wash, and humid Clouds its head still hide.
Dire Vulcan his own Mansion scarce yet burns,
But to one Smithfield the whole City turns:
And ruines all but Chimneys, his right place,
Soon as he did his proper bounds once pass.
Priam's stout Son among the Grecians cast
Such Flames, that did their Ships at Anchor waste:
Which seem'd but to precede that fatal Fire,
In which soon after Ilium did expire.
Thus might those Flames presage the like event,
Our English Hector to the Dutch Fleet sent.
Which a more fatal Fire seem'd to foreshow,
That should no less rich London overthrow.
Th' Head of three Kingdoms thus to Fate doth bow,
Not cover'd vvith, but turn'd to ashes now:
Whose shatter'd Tovvers seem to th' observing eye,
Like those of old Rome, vvhich in Ruines lie.
Whose Ports yet standing, though defac'd, appear
By some old Characters, vvhat once they vvere.
Arches and ruin'd Temples too are seen,
Whose Letters shevv, vvhat they before have been.
Thus those Inscriptions on each standing Gate,
Spell Londons former Pomp, but later Fate.
That stately Ship, vvhich bore the Cities Name,
And perisht by an unexpected Flame;
Yet from her Ashes Phoenix-like did spring,
Another Loyal London to the King.
Thus from our Ruin'd City may arise,
Another, vvhose high Tovvers may urge the Skies.





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